


little game of faith

by transvav



Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Gen, It's a little gay., Realm of Mianite, based on s1ep51, romantic if you. want to read it that way., which lives in my head Rent Free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transvav/pseuds/transvav
Summary: "he wants you on his team...?""oh! you're being invited to dianite!"(a different take on dianite's... offer.)
Relationships: Jordan Maron & Lord Dianite
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	little game of faith

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gift (>:3c) for an anon! my brain was struggling bc oh boy did i almost make this jail worthy... wrote this in 2 days tho, go off me

“excellent,” the god says.

it almost doesn’t register, to him, for a good long moment. jordan’s still cleaning the wither dust and sand from his sword blade before it can settle into the enchantments and ruin the sword further‒ he’s lucky that none of it really got into the armor cracks and runes there, either. not that it would’ve been much of an issue if this armor was lost. it isn’t technically _his_ , is it, not that he’ll ever admit that out loud. there’s blood running down his nose, and his muscles are still twitching from the after effects of that withering magic, but he’d at least have the sense of mind to ask, beforehand, if he’d done well by the chaos gods’ standards.

“very good,” dianite continues, and jordan’s ears finally pick up on his voice as the ringing begins to clear. the god is nowhere near him, anymore, probably sitting back in his throne in the observation chamber of the arena, where jordan had heard tom yelling for a chance to prove himself as well. “i’m going to have to speak to ianite about this. see what we can work on.”

faintly, jordan hears the sound of another wither being spawned, and tom yelling in his hyper sort of delight. but the god is still in his ear, still speaking like they’re right next to one another, like he isn’t distracted at all by his own champion fighting right in front of him. he doesn’t pay it any mind, too suddenly distracted by the name of his goddess as the mere mention sends energy up his spine, power in his fingertips. he hums questioningly in response and starts his way towards home, hoping to vault the armor before tom can try to steal it back.

dianite’s presence drapes itself further over him, like the god himself has wrapped his claws over his shoulders and is tightening his grip ever so slightly. the armor that he’d fought so hard for suddenly clamps over him, burning hot against his clothing, nearly burning _through_. he can feel it melt and expand around him, shifting in place‒ diamond shouldn’t move like this, but it also isn’t meant to have lava mend its cracks. normal diamond armor doesn’t spark when his anger is about to burst, or when his adrenaline is high, or when his revenge pranks go well. normal diamond boots don’t leave burnt footprints in the grass when he’s running from tucker and sonja.

when the feeling fades, the armor is still warm, but fits a lot more comfortably. he’s properly passed dianite’s test, then‒ the diamond has attuned itself to him. _it’s really mine now_ , he thinks a little giddily, shifting his weight and tucking away his sword. _at least for now_.

“i want you on my team,” dianite murmurs directly into his ear, and that heat returns a thousand fold.

his heart stops, gripped by that sudden flame as it wraps across him in chains. the armor suddenly feels binding, course, and heavy, trying to drag him back to the arena, and he stops where he is, trying to swallow down the fire that’s curling in his chest uncomfortably. the god of chaos chuckles quietly in his ear, dark and low, and it sends a shiver up jordan’s spine despite the unbearable warmth that’s nearly _cooking him alive_. the presence shifts, moving from holding his shoulders to full leaning over him, a weight against his back as arms drape over him further. if he closes his eyes he can almost see dianite back in his mock-throne, smugly grinning down at the fight for reasons no one but _jordan_ would know‒

he stumbles over his words for a little bit, trying to find his balance and his footing again, taking a few unsteady steps forwards and grimacing at the smell of the burning grass he was leaving behind. dianite laughs again, lifting his weight away but leaving trailing touches, flame for fingertips that press red marks across his skin. jordan’s breath stutters in his throat again, hissing at the feeling, and he tugs himself away. it all seems to fade, for a moment, nothing left but that usual familiar warmth of the sun and the sway of the scales in the near distance.

but the god lingers anyways, mocking, circling his skull in crimson smoke and magic, teasing his curls and pressing against his temples. jordan’s whole body feels like it’s alight with warring energies. the scales seem like they’re toppling and he grimaces, waving the smoke away, watching it catch and trail between his fingers like it’s suddenly solid like spiderstring or heavy silk. it wraps around his palms and wrists, suddenly, and tugs, and his brow furrows, his teeth grit. an enderman lingers close, never meeting his eyes, but already the screaming is beginning to ring in his ears again.

“ _i **will** get you on my team_,” dianite says, just as the second wither’s death rings out across the realm, echoing across the cliffs and rivers and hills.

jordan rips the silk and falls, heaving, to his knees, out of breath and sweating, dianite laughing above him as the god’s mirage circles him, making his footfalls intentionally heavy as they pass in front of his vision. by now, jordan has learned the difference between a threat, and a promise‒ and this, jordan knows, is not just a simple threat. the god honestly and truly believes jordan will be _his_ , someday, and he plans on making good on it.

the captain grunts, pushing himself up to sit on his heels, and trails dianite in his peripherals, still circling him with what jordan can only assumes is a smug, self-sufficient grin‒

“and how, exactly, are you planning to do that? i’m loyal to my lady, to my goddess. i have no plans of changing my affiliations, lord dianite, my pledge is to her safety,” he spits, wiping the blood from his nose again.

“yet you still call me _lord_ ,” dianite muses, stopping in front of jordan and looking down, gaze piercing, unblinking, and jordan resists the urge to flinch back. “not even my brothers’ pathetic followers do that, _sparklez_ , so i was understandably confused- delighted, mind you, but confused, when you continued to call me by a title. curious little thing, isn’t it, the way of balance‒ i never quite understood it, but i hear it’s a very precarious line to dance upon.”

“what are you implying.”

“has your goddess explained biases‒ no,” the god laughs. “no, i don’t think she’s had the chance to, has she?”

jordan twitches in place, shifting his weight forwards, hand dancing towards his sword, his teeth gritting further. but dianite catches his chin between his wispy fingers‒ the claws, he can tell, are still _very_ much a threat, digging ever so slightly into his skin. the god _tsks_ quietly, tilting his head up even further.

“you wear my armor without issue. jumped to prove yourself to keep it. if anyone else were to fight for it, it would never fit them, even if they won. you did challenges in my temple. you _won_ the challenges in my temple. you survived the trap no one else would have. you know what you are, and you’re being rather foolish in deluding yourself.”

dianite’s fingertips had started to burn into his skin, curling up his veins, and he moved his hand to cup jordan’s face almost softly, mockingly. “how long, sparklez? how long will you lie to yourself about what god you’re meant to serve?”

“until she’s _safe_ ,” jordan spits. “ianite can survive, i believe in her‒”

“your faith is a hell of a thing, sparklez,” the god says. “brought my sister back from the brink of death, and, in all honestly, i _will_ thank you for that. but even then, captain, your allegiances slipped‒ you simply called her by her name. no title. no honorific. and yet you still call _me_ ‒”

jordan finally seems to break from whatever trance he’s in‒ he jerks from dianite’s warm palm and falls backwards, catching himself on his elbows. when he blinks, the mirage of dianite is gone, nothing but a dissipating red haze in front of him. he slumps all the way to the ground, grimacing as his back hits the soft grass through the armor, the trees above him rustling like laughter, and he heaves a long and tired sigh.

he can hear the others starting their trek back to the center of the island, tom loud and raucous in his victory, and it makes him briefly smile. he’s off the path, though, and won’t be found if they aren’t looking directly for him. he has time to rest, he thinks, and closes his eyes against the sunlight that’s streamlining past the loose canopy of leaves. the heat is uncomfortable, but he can’t bear to take the armor off, now, almost afraid of what’ll happen when he does. ianite’s armor is meant for him and him alone, but it’s as weak as she is, for the moment, and the armor he’s stolen‒ rightfully won‒ is much better at keeping him safe.

as he’s thinking it, thunder rumbles‒ the god has left the realm, for now.

“in time, perhaps,” he says to the skies. “if you play your cards right, you may find me... more _willing_ to hear you out.”

ianite’s connection to him twists questioningly, but he only smiles, pushing his red sunglasses further up his nose. he has a lot to think about, but‒

“...my lord.”

‒dianite wasn’t exactly _wrong,_ was he?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks again for. requesting! this! i had fun idk :)
> 
> check out my [tumblr](http://transandor.tumblr.com) for the vibes and maybe idk more
> 
> and also please comment i'm going to cry


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